


A Time and A Place

by runsinthefamily



Series: Lonely Souls [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hustling, M/M, Underage - Freeform, Violence, hooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:09:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is seventeen the first time he is paid for sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time and A Place

Three weeks, John had been gone, and the money was running out. Dean hadn't eaten in two days, other than the crackers and creamers he'd lifted off the side table at the diner around the corner. Sam had had cereal for the last three meals, and now the milk was gone. There was a grocery three blocks down, but Dean was too big now for shoplifting, and he was pretty sure the owner of the diner had been spreading the word. Last time he'd been in, to buy two apples and a pint of milk with the change he'd scraped out of the bottom of his duffle, the clerk had watched him the entire time, eyes narrowed and mouth tight.

John had told him, repeatedly, that he wasn't ready yet to hustle pool, but really, what other options did he have at this point? They were behind on the room, and ducking the motel manager wasn't going to work for much longer. It killed him, straight up murdered him inside, but after Sam had gone to sleep, Dean had raided the kid's bag and lifted the twenty-five bucks he had stashed in a sock. Money that Sam had been saving for who-knows-what. 

"I'll put it back," he murmured, low, so as not to wake Sam. "Promise, Sammy." He shoved the cash in his back pocket and left.

Two hours later, he learned what John had meant when he'd told Dean he wasn't ready. It wasn't the playing - he'd cleaned out three dumb fuckers in a row, walked away with almost four hundred bucks - it was the everything else. It was not smirking like a cocky asshole. It was not trash talking. It was buying rounds and cracking jokes and knowing to clear the fuck out afterward, not stay and have a couple celebratory shots at the bar, basking in the relief of money in the pocket, pressure lifted for a couple days at least. It was definitely not ambling away, slightly buzzed and self satisfied, without even checking his six.

They caught him not even a block away, dragged him into an alley, and beat the shit out of him.

He gave as good as he got, for the first couple minutes anyway. Broke a nose, maybe a couple fingers on the big fat guy. But, in the end, it was five against one, and he finished curled on the filthy pavement, protecting his head and belly as best he could while they put the boots to him. He struggled a bit, again, when one of them pulled his wallet out of his pocket, but the shithead with the class ring cracked it against his temple and he fell back, dazed. The emptied wallet landed on his chest. Someone spat. Then they were leaving, laughing and high-fiving one another.

Dean lay where they left him. _Get up_ , said John in his head. _Get the fuck up, come on._

He turned over, groaning at the pain, and spat blood onto the ground. He'd had worse than this, surely. The poltergeist in Indiana last winter. The time he'd fallen off Bobby's roof and busted three ribs. He got his hands under him and pushed up, got to his knees. His wallet fell to the ground beside him.

 _Oh, fuck. Sammy's money._ He fumbled the wallet open, regarded the empty billfold, and then shut his eyes. _I will not cry. I am not going to cry like a goddamned baby over twenty-five bucks._

"Hey."

He spun, awkwardly, and half fell over again. One hand came down in something wet and horrible. 

"Sorry! Sorry." It was a guy, maybe forty, in a rumpled suit. "I uh, I saw those guys coming out of here and, uh, are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" Dean asked, trying hard to control his voice and not quite managing it.

"Did they mug you? Do you want me to call the cops?"

"No!" said Dean. Cops would want to know who he was, where he was staying. Cops would find Sammy, cops would find out how long John had been gone. "No, I'm - it's fine. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." The guy came closer, hands held to either side to advertise his non-threat. "I could, um. I guess you don't want a hospital either, then."

"No." Dean put a hand to his jaw. They'd only gotten a couple licks to his face. He was probably alright to walk around in public. "I just gotta - I've got a room at Nick's Motel."

"Want a ride?" The guy crouched, putting himself on Dean's level, eyes surveying his face. He looked like someone's dad, the kind of guy who got sunburned at little league games and called his kid 'tiger.' 

Dean contemplated the mile and a half hike back to the motel, and then held out a hand. Little League took it and pulled Dean to his feet.

"You got someone waiting for you at the motel?" Little League asked, when they were sitting in his unremarkable Honda Civic.

"Shit," said Dean. He could not walk into the room looking like this. What if Sam woke up? He'd freak out.

"Well, I have a room at the Ramada. You could, uh, use my shower."

Dean blinked at the guy. And then understanding flooded in like cold water, leaving him chilled and lucid. _No_ , John shouted in his head. 

_Fuck you, Dad. You aren't here, you don't get a vote._

"Yeah," said Dean. His stomach dropped and he swallowed, hard. "Yeah, thanks."

Little League smiled, and it wasn't even creepy, just sort of pleased and almost shy. He dropped his eyes and started the car.

 

The Ramada was nice. Clean carpets, clean walls, no smell of mold or cigarette smoke or ancient, questionable food. Little League gestured at the bathroom. "All yours."

Dean closed the bathroom door and stared at himself in the mirror, listening to Little League rustle around in the room outside. He looked white and shocky under the glare of the bathroom lighting. His eyes were huge, there was a shiner starting up on his left cheekbone. His face was dirty. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder, and filthy all down the right side and the back, where he'd laid on the ground. He looked lost.

Dean peeled out of his clothes quickly, before he could think too much, and got into the shower. The water was hot and the pressure was hard enough to make him bend his head forward for the feel of it beating on his neck. He soaped up, trying not to imagine Little League waiting in the room, maybe sitting on the bed, waiting for Dean to clean up, to make himself presentable. So that he could present himself. 

He didn't have to do this. He could put his clothes back on and leave. Hell, he could just clock the pervert and steal _his_ money. The world spun round and round, after all. It was for a good cause. Except that he and Sam were stuck in this pisshole town until Dad got back, and Little League already knew where they were staying. Dean stared at the drain, watching the soap swirl down.

Fuck. It was just sex. Not like he hadn't done it before. _What if he wants -_ Dean thrust the shower curtain open and toweled his hair aggressively. Cross those bridges when he came to them. Or not. Little League hadn't struck Dean as the pushy type. Not that he would know, much. About this kind of thing. The mirror was fogged. Dean didn't wipe it. He left his clothes in a heap on the floor, wrapped a towel around his hips, and opened the door.

"Hey," said Little League. He'd taken his jacket off, undone his tie. His feet were bare on the clean Ramada carpet. 

"Hey," said Dean. 

Little League came over. His shirt cuffs were loose and open, falling back over his wrists. He had brown eyes, a hint of stubble, a little bit of pudge at his waist. "Can I kiss you?"

"Okay," said Dean. "I mean, yeah."

 

It was two in the morning when Dean slipped back into the room at Nick's, the bitter-salt of come still strong at the back of his tongue and a hundred bucks in his pocket. He slid twenty-five into Sammy's sock, bent over the bed to smooth a lock of hair out of Sam's eyes, and then went into the bathroom to vomit.


End file.
